


Pleasantly Plump

by aliveinvividity



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dogs, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Whiskey & Scotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveinvividity/pseuds/aliveinvividity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I'm going to go on a diet."</p><p>In which Will wishes to go on a diet and Hannibal disapproves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasantly Plump

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up synonyms for chubby and got pleasantly plump.
> 
> It's so cute, oh my goodness. But yeah, I'm so sorry for getting at this request so late . . . I'm a piece of shit.

"I think I'm going to go on a diet."

 

Beverly looks up from her work- (she's sampling some hairs from a coat that came in the other day). Her brow is raised in surprise. "Really? Why?”

 

Will shrugs. “I just figured losing a few pounds would be nice.”

 

“Trying to impress someone?” Jimmy says from the other side of the room.

 

Beverly chuckles. “Whoever they are, they must be really worth it.”

 

Will feels his face growing warm. He doesn't like the attention. “There isn't anyone that I have to impress. Nobody's really,” he waves the arm around that isn't glued to his side, “interested in me- let alone _shown_ interest in me.”

 

He hears Price hum and Beverly just nods. Will realizes he's never held conversation this long with anyone while working in the department. It felt a little bit nice to be able to share with others and not be so antisocial.

 

“Well, as long as you're comfortable with yourself,” Beverly says, delicately pinching a hair and moving it under the microscope she's using.

 

“Say,” Jimmy said. “What's that Hannibal fellow like?”

 

Zeller snorts beside him as he examines a body.

 

“I saw you two walking around together during a crime scene,” Beverly throws in.

 

“He's like any other psychiatrist,” Will replies.

 

Jimmy huffs, “No he is  _not_ . Did you  _see_ him, Graham?” Will hears Zeller slap Price on the shoulder.

 

Will wants to sigh. “Yes, I've seen him plenty of times. At therapeutic appointments that I don't even want to go to.”

 

“Why not try talking to him?” Beverly suggests. “He seemed pretty . . . interested in you.” She emphasizes the word ' _interested_ '.

 

Will doesn't reply.

 

**

 

Upon returning home, Will immediately heads for the liquor cabinet. (Not after petting and loving on his dogs, though.)

 

He opens it to reveal half-full bottles and collecting dust. Will grasps his favorite scotch dubiously, pressing his lips together. The dogs must sense his meager panic because they trot over to where he's standing and begin nuzzling his pant legs. His hand goes down to his stomach, which is a little bit chubby, he will admit. Will realizes that he's able to pinch some fat, and he jiggles it a little. Then, he gently slaps at it, sighing.

 

He could do this. It would be difficult, but he could do it.

 

Pulling out the kitchen's trash can, he carries it up to the cabinet.

 

Will then begins to clear out his stash. He discovers some drinks that he'd forgotten were even in there, making it even more difficult to let them go.

 

He discovers it's easier to empty it with his eyes turned away.

 

After Will's done, the cabinets that contain junk food go next. And then he clears out the fridge, (which contains a wine bottle Hannibal had gifted to him some time ago.) Feeling like he would be brimming with guilt later if he threw that out, he decides to keep it. He could just give it to Alana or Beverly. Jack, maybe.

 

Once he's finished, he realizes he forgot to let the dogs' outside for their evening run. Setting down the half-full garbage bag, Will opens the house's screen door, the dogs' hastily piling out after one another in their retreat for fresh air.

 

**

 

“I emptied my cabinets,” is the first thing Will says, sitting down in the chair placed before Hannibal.

 

Hannibal himself is sitting cross-legged, hands loosely clasped together. The picture of collected elegance. “What did you take from them?” he asks, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. Will didn't blame him. It _was_ sort of was funny, given how they just start out most appointments based on murder and cannibalism.

 

Will replies, “All the alcohol, fat-based things, sugar . . .,” he trails off. He swears that Hannibal has barely-restrained displeasure swimming around in those maroon orbs for eyes. “What?” Will finds himself asking, before he can really help it.

 

“Are you happy with that choice, Will?” the other man catches him off guard. He almost splutters like an idiot in his chair.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you displeased with your body's appearance, Will?” Hannibal is tapping his thumbs together, lips thinned out.

 

Will tenses. He knew his psychiatrist was a bit on the . . . more _open_ side, but this was just a little strange for Will's tastes. And he wonders why Hannibal would confront him on the subject in the manner that he is. The doctor's own body looked lean, and healthily muscular. Will expected him to show support. “Are you telling me not to go on a diet, Dr. Lecter?”

 

Hannibal shifts. “I'm telling you that it is not going to bode well.” Before Will can make a comeback, Hannibal says easily, “What do you think would happen, Will, if you deprived your body of the things' it desires, and then went to another crime scene? You already know how your mind is taking it, which is not very great.

 

But imagine how terrible it would react while you were starving yourself of your body's needs and then going to these crime scenes, one after another.”

 

He thinks about it, pointer finger gently scratching the arm of his chair. But at the same time, he's a little angry with Dr. Lecter analyzing him like that. Will gives in; mutters, “I guess you've got a point.”

 

Hannibal smiles, looking almost pleased.

 

The only metaphor Will can compare him to, in this moment, is to a cat who's been given a bowl of cream.

 

Will being the cream.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any one-shot requests, go ahead and inbox/ask me! ^^


End file.
